Boredom Can Be Avoided
by any-otp-will-do
Summary: Sherlock is bored. Again. So he came up with a new experiment. Basically PWP, rated M for explicit sexual relations.


_John. -SH_

_Sherlock. -JW_

_Bored. -SH_

_As usual. I'll be done work soon. -JW_

_Good. -SH_

_Must our conversations always be so one sided? -JW_

_Sorry? -SH_

_Your one-worded texts, Sherlock. Don't you ever have anything more to say? -JW_

_No. -SH_

John sighed and looked at his patient list. One more left for today, he mused, then it would be back to the flat. Hopefully he would be able to keep Sherlock from blowing any more holes in the wall. Mrs. Hudson had really been angry with him last time. It took John an hour of sucking up and a coupon for the spa to get her to stop going on about it.

The next hour ticked by slowly. Mr. Rivers was an older gentlemen; hard of hearing and stubborn to boot, he was not cooperating. His wife held his hand and tried to keep him in his seat and explain his symptoms while apologizing around his outbursts. She did her best to fill him in through the mumblings of "Unneeded hassle... stupid medical people... just because he has a _'degree'_..." and his shouts of "Dammit woman, I'm fine!"

Eventually, John got the couple out of the door with a prescription and a follow-up date. He sighed and pushed himself away from his desk. Pulling his phone out of a drawer, he opened it to see he had four new messages.

_John. -SH_

_Done? -SH_

_Much longer? -SH_

_Please hurry. -SH_

John knew Sherlock must be getting desperate now; not only had he deviated from his one-word text pattern, but he had said please! John grabbed his coat and bolted through the door, calling a quick good-bye to Sarah as he rushed past. He quickly maneuvered through the halls and out into the open air. He hailed a taxi and scrambled in the back while trying to write a reply.

_On my way. 5 min. -JW_

_Oh, thank god. -SH_

_No new bullet holes, right? -JW_

_No. -SH_

_But it was close. -SH_

_You're chatty today. -JW_

_Bored. -SH_

_Have an idea. -SH_

_Hm, new experiment? -JW_

_Sort of. -SH_

_What? -JW_

_You'll see. -SH_

_C'mon Sherlock. I hate surprises. -JW_

_Too bad. -SH_

_Ugh, you're impossible. -JW_

_You've said. -SH_

The taxi pulled up and John got out quickly, paid the driver, and fished his keys out of his pocket. He hurriedly unlocked the door and made his way into the flat he shared with the detective. He sighed as he put down his bag and took off his coat. It was unusually warm in the flat, but it smelled like tea, coffee and toast as normal, so he shrugged this thought off.

"Sherlock?" he called.

"Yes?" A deep baritone questioned as it's owner slipped into the room. John's eyes looked over the dark curls and gorgeous eyes, his own eyes sliding over the prominent cheekbones and full lips. He began to smile, but stopped suddenly as he noticed Sherlock's chest, which was bare. Why-?

Pushing the thought away, John cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from the pale marble expanse that was Sherlock's torso." So, uhm, what's the experiment you were talking about?"

Sherlock moved closer to John, coming within a foot of the doctor. John's heart had been thudding in his chest before, but now it felt as if it were going to rip right through his ribcage. He had averted his eyes, but he could still see the detective bite his lip through his peripheral vision. The scent of Sherlock wafted over to John, filling his nostrils and distracting him further. His stomach tightened and he could feel himself stirring to life in his trousers. Damn, why did Sherlock have to be so beautiful?

"Your pupils are dilated, John." Sherlock murmured, reaching for his wrist. "Oh, and quickened pulse. Hm, good Doctor, are you feeling well?"

Sherlock's voice sent electric pulses to his groin, and his eyes snapped to the beautiful man's face. He stared, dumbfounded at the detective. He made a sound in the back of his throat, of affirmation or denial he wasn't sure. He was going to attempt to say something, but then-

"Perhaps you are warm, Doctor. You should remove your jumper; I daresay it is stuffy in here." He slipped his hand under John's jumper and shirt, making John jump as cold fingers met his heated flesh. _Sherlock was flirting with him!_

When a pair of lips crashed down on his, John could do little but squeak in surprise. He quickly got over it, however, and moaned into Sherlock's mouth. He grabbed the detective's hipbones and pulled his thighs in to meet his groin. They both groaned at the contact; Sherlock low and desperate, John breathy and high. Sherlock bit John's lower lip sharply and the doctor whimpered.

"God- I-" John never finished his sentence. He was distracted by Sherlock reaching down with one hand and cupping his arse. He then used his free hand to hitch John's leg around his hips. When John failed to bring up the other one, Sherlock growled into his mouth and bit the doctor's lip. His hand traveled from John's knee and snaked it's way to join Sherlock's other hand on the man's arse. He jerked John forward and this time John got the message; he fairly jumped into Sherlock, wrapping his legs securely around his narrow waist and hissing as the bulges in their trousers met.

A gasp escaped Sherlock's mouth and John decided to take control- well, as much control as he could while in his current position. He twined his fingers into the dark curls and brought that luscious mouth back to his. A tongue swept over the crease of Sherlock's lips and they parted sweetly. John lazily searched every inch of the detective's mouth, reveling in the softness, before massaging his tongue against Sherlock's. The younger man groaned into his mouth again.

"Please, John." he gasped, breathlessly.

"Please, what?" John teased, pulling back and looking into the fathomless eyes of blue. But the need and hazy desire was too much for him to deny. He untangled himself from the young man- who sighed at the loss of contact- and put his barely steady legs on the floor. "Alright then." He held out his hand for Sherlock's, smiling as the long fingers weaved into his own. Sherlock took charge, pulling the doctor with him to his bedroom, all the while pulling off their clothes and placing hot kisses wherever he could reach. As Sherlock closed the door, John discarded his shirt which had gotten stuck on his arm.

They came together slowly this time, Sherlock staring intensely at the doctor's body. He placed his hands behind John's head and pulled him into a slow, passionate kiss. Eventually, the fingers began trailing downwards; over his shoulders and chest. Sherlock marveled at the warm skin under his fingertips and smirked when John's breath hitched in his throat. His fingers danced back to the man's nipples, causing the doctor's breath to hitch again. Intrigued, the detective went about cataloging the doctor's reactions. He rolled John's nipples between his forefinger and thumb, placed kisses on them, and finally sucked one into his mouth. This caused to thrust his hips forward slightly, writhing a bit too when Sherlock used his tongue and teeth to their full potential.

John's mind had gone blissfully clear while Sherlock worked on him, he was barely aware of the fingers that were stealing down his front and to the front of his trousers. He finally noticed when the mouth disappeared from his chest and uttered a curse. Then he heard a ripping sound and gasped as air hit his bare legs and his pants were pulled down to his ankles. He looked up to see the most fascinated look in Sherlock's eyes, and to see him on his knees. In an instant, John pulled Sherlock up to him, and, while kissing him, turned them both and crawled onto the bed. Sherlock was under him now and John took the opportunity to examine his already bare chest. He ghosted over the flesh, giving the detective the same treatment he had given. Sherlock didn't let him get far:

"Please, John, I don't want to wait anymore." He panted, "Just, just-" He couldn't form words around his heaving breaths. But John understood him. He shed the remainder of both of their clothes and peered at Sherlock's hard length. "John, over there. Top drawer." Sherlock just managed to get the words out between each breath. John grabbed blindly inside the drawer, unable to look away from Sherlock's flushed and aroused body. He brought the cool bottle closer to him so he could examine it. It was lube.

"Do you really want to do this? We can stop now." John said in a lusty but compassionate voice. But Sherlock wasn't having it.

"Fuck. Me. Now." He growled.

John smirked and slicked up his fingers and cock. His fingertips searched Sherlock's opening, circling and prodding gently. He started stroking the detective's erection at the same time, getting him to relax before attempting penetration. When he finally breached the entrance, Sherlock fairly whimpered with a little pain, but mostly the overwhelming pleasure. Soon enough, John had introduced three digits and properly stretched his lover. He positioned himself and slid in slowly, releasing a hiss as Sherlock's incredibly tight ass clenched down on him, and stopped when he couldn't go in any farther.

Sherlock let out a soft grunt of pain, but was very verbal when telling John not to stop. In fact, he pulled John down onto his sweaty chest and whispered to him in a lusty voice that if he didn't move, Sherlock would make him regret it.

John gulped visibly, and Sherlock smirked. Then the doctor pulled back and thrust forward hard. That wiped the smile off Sherlock's face. He was instantly dazed, arching his back and gasping to draw breath. John swiveled his hips in a way that made the detective's eyes roll back and his toes curl. He pulled back again and slammed forward over and over. Both men were moaning and crying out with every thrust, pants and grunts filled the room.

John was getting lost in the heat, he didn't know where he needed his body to go in order to make Sherlock come first. Then a lesson from his med school days flashed into his mind. The male g-spot. John angled his hips on the next inward thrust and slammed right into the bundle of nerves that was Sherlock's prostate. The detective let out a strangled cry and suddenly he was meeting every stroke of John's brutally fast thrusting. They crashed into each other again and again, each time hitting Sherlock's prostate perfectly.

"John- I- Fuck!" Sherlock cried as his back arched upward. He grabbed John's arms and held so tightly, the doctor would have bruises the next day. Not that Watson noticed; when Sherlock came, his muscles clenched around John so tightly, he barely had time for another stroke before he was coming too.

"Sherlock! Shit, oh fuck!" He moaned loudly. He nearly collapsed on the detective right then and there. He had enough presence of mind to roll onto one side and bring Sherlock with him, pulling out of his hot body at the same time. It took several minutes before John noticed anything but the white hot pleasure that still coursed through him. He looked over at Sherlock who was staring, wide-eyed and speechless at the doctor. John smiled and pulled the younger man into a soft kiss. Slowly, he became aware that Sherlock was laughing softly.

"What?" John asked, a bit self-conscious.

"Well," He drawled in his lovely baritone voice, "One thing is definite."

John raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Oh?"

"I'm never going to get bored again."


End file.
